By Request
by LuxKen27
Summary: A collection of challenges & commissions. Chapter 7 - The Miko's Sacrifice: She never wanted to be a savior, but now she held humanity's fate in her hands. Written for paynesgrey, on commission for the 2011 help japan fandom charity auction.
1. The Wedding Gift

Title: The Wedding Gift

Author: LuxKen27

Rating: Y

Warnings: Sensual nudity

Word Count: 795

Summary: Kagome receives an unexpected surprise from Inuyasha.

Author's Note: Written for doggieearlover, who requested "Inu/Kag AU fluff" during the LJ drabble meme. Inspired, in part, by "Winter Morning" [fanart] © 2008 Kristin Bergh and "Love Story" [song] © 2008 Taylor Swift

_Disclaimer: The_ Inuyasha _concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media._

.xxxxx.

Kagome's eyelids fluttered as streaks of sunlight filtered into the room. She burrowed deeper under the blankets, a small sigh escaping her lips as she tucked her head closer to her chest, unwilling to face the morning just yet – but she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Her mind slowly rose back to the upper echelons of wakefulness, and sensations began to filter through her consciousness once again.

She became aware of the warmth of Inuyasha's body, flush against her back; instinctively, she furrowed closer to him. His arms were wrapped snugly around her waist, though his hands had drifted in different directions during the course of the night – one was curved around her ribcage at the underside of her breast, while the other had dipped intimately between her legs. A small flush rose to her cheeks as her eyes opened.

She could hardly believe that they were finally married. After everything they'd been through – the distress, the heartache – finally, _finally_, they were together, able to relax and enjoy each other to the fullest. They'd certainly taken their time last night, exploring and loving, reassuring and pleasuring.

Her hand curled over his forearm, her fingers trailing softly down the warm skin. He stirred under her light caress, opening his hand upward and cupping her breast in response. A shiver stole down her spine as his thumb absently stroked the pliant skin.

She smiled when she felt his lips brush against the nape of her neck, his body shifting slightly as he awakened. "Good morning," he whispered against the shell of her ear, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

"Good morning," she returned, her breath hitching as she felt the hand at her thigh fall away. She looked back at him, slightly disappointed, but her protest was washed away under a fervent kiss. She rolled onto her back, greedily accepting his weight as he settled over her. She was more than ready to pick up where they'd left off some scant few hours before, but instead of the intensity she anticipated, his kisses were languid. She found herself melting into him anyway, her arms drifting up around his neck as his hair fell around her in a silvery curtain. His body fit perfectly into the cradle of hers, and slowly her thoughts began to drift away as she lost herself to sensation.

She whimpered slightly when he pulled away, reaching over her to the bedside table. "What are you doing?" she asked, puzzled.

His expression fell into a scowl as his search came up empty. He sat up in the bed, eyeing the clothes that were strewn around the room. "I have something for you…if I can find it."

She grasped his arm as he attempted to stand, leaving their soft cocoon of sheets. "It can wait," she murmured, drawing herself up beside him and kissing the underside of his jaw.

She succeeded in distracting him, but only for a moment. "No, no, I wanted to give this to you last night, before…" His words trailed off sheepishly.

"Okay," she relented with a bemused sigh, allowing him to leave the warmth of their bed, watching him with no small amount of amusement as he moved from pile to pile of discarded clothing, muttering under his breath.

Finally, he found his prize, turning back to her with a mischievous grin. "Close your eyes," he directed, hiding it behind his back.

She laughed but complied, wrapping the blanket around herself as she waited. Her curiosity was piqued when she heard the quiet opening and closing of a jewelry box, and her heart picked up speed as she sensed his approach. A cool chain settled around her neck, something slightly heavy weighing against her chest.

"Okay," Inuyasha breathed, "you can open your eyes now."

She did, surprised to see him crouched before her, his hands resting on her knees as he gazed up at her with a hopeful expression. She glanced down, inhaling sharply as she raised her hand to touch his gift.

A deep-set sapphire glittered in her fingertips, surrounded by a cushion of diamonds. "How did you…?" she choked out, unable to believe her eyes.

"Know?" he finished with a smile, drawing her attention once again. "We could never pass that shop without you at least glancing at it."

Her heart constricted in her chest at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you," she finally managed, fighting the tears that welled behind her eyes. "It's so beautiful."

"Not half as beautiful as you," he replied, rising up, twining his hands into her hair and capturing her mouth with his.

She fell back with a soft thud against the mattress under the intensity of his relieved kisses, and suddenly realized the _perfect_ way to thank him for the wonderful surprise.


	2. My Innocent

Title: My Innocent

Author: LuxKen27

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1171

Summary: Canon, post-manga. Rin struggles to admit to Sesshoumaru that her feelings for him have changed.

Author's Note: Written for Langus, who requested "Sess/(older)Rin" during the LJ drabble meme. Inspired, in part, by "Innocence" [song] © 2007 Avril Lavigne & Evan Taubenfeld

_Disclaimer: The_ Inuyasha _concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media._

.xxxxx.

Rin curled her shaking hands around her cup, staring down into the depths of the hot liquid. She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. _This is ridiculous,_ she thought, bringing the tea to her lips for a dainty sip, her eyes still averted from her companion. _It's merely Lord Sesshoumaru._

She glanced up, a warm flush rising up the back of her neck. Her heart beat painfully in her chest as she gazed at him, greedily tracing the lines of his face, the turn of his shoulder, the elaborateness of his ensemble. Sitting this way – head turned away from her, eyes closed – he appeared no different from the first day she'd seen him, ten years ago in that forest clearing. It was his usual stance during these all-too-infrequent visits – he found the need to be chaperoned around her quite distasteful – so why was this time different from the last?

"Rin," he said, breaking the silence of the room. "What ails you?"

She flushed again, tipping her head to her chest, clasping the cup even tighter in her hands.

_I can't tell him. I can't admit to this – he'd never come back if he knew._

"You are terrible at keeping secrets," he continued, his tone calm, if disinterested.

"My lord," she began, her breath catching in her throat. She cast a quick glance to her left, where Kaede sat in the corner, sorting herbs. She bit her lip, willing the old miko to look up. If she was to speak of such a personal matter, she'd rather not have an audience.

Mercifully, Kaede appeared to receive her telepathic messages. She returned Rin's troubled glance with a knowing nod, pushing her baskets away and standing up. "Please excuse me, Lord Sesshoumaru," she murmured, shuffling towards the door.

Sesshoumaru didn't acknowledge her as she passed, his eyes still closed, his head turned away. As soon as the door covering fluttered closed, however, he spoke.

"Rin."

She shuddered under the imperious tone. With one word, he managed to convey multiple meanings: that he wanted to know what was bothering her; that he realized it was serious if she dismissed Kaede; that his interest had now been piqued to the point of outright demand.

She found herself powerless to resist his commands, even though she was no longer a child, subject to his severe guardianship.

She gulped the rest of the tea, the hot liquid scalding her throat on the way down. "My lord," she tried again. "Something has…happened."

Sesshoumaru was silent. He had not moved once since settling against the wall of the tiny hut, and he didn't appear inclined to do so anytime soon.

Rin found the courage to face him, curious yet somehow afraid of his reaction. "A village boy tried to kiss me," she burst out.

"Oh?" he mused.

"Yes," she sighed mournfully, letting her eyes drop slightly.

She sucked in a breath when his hand found the hilt of Bakusaiga. "Did he hurt you?" he asked, his voice betraying no hint of emotion.

"No," she replied, her heart fluttering in her chest. "It's just…"

_Oh, God, how can I say this to him?_

"What?" he prompted after a long pause.

She raised her eyes, wanting to take in the peacefulness of his expression one last time. If she said this, nothing would ever be the same between them again – of that she was certain.

"I wanted my first kiss to be from you," she admitted softly.

His eyes shot open, sharp and surprised; his hand tightened around his sword.

Rin's face flamed as her eyes fell to the floor. Her heart beat painfully in her chest; her breath constricted as her throat closed over tears. _ I knew it, I knew it_, she thought wildly. _There's no way he could ever understand._

Of course, she hardly understood herself what had come over her. She had no idea when these feelings for him had developed; one day, she just woke up and realized she was in love with her lord – deeply, helplessly, painfully in love with him. He was the standard by which she unconsciously measured all others – and no human man could ever be his equal.

But she could never have him. He was a great taiyoukai, one who despised the human race as lower than the ground he treaded. The fact that he still deigned to visit her was something of a small miracle, though this turn of events would most certainly put an end to such indulgence.

She squirmed as she felt the intensity of his gaze fall over her, biting her lips to keep her tears inside. She toyed with the cup in front of her, growing increasingly warm and uncomfortable as the silence between them lingered. She began to feel gangly and awkward as she sat there, under his assessing stare.

She knew he would break her heart, but she wasn't going to apologize for admitting her feelings. If he'd taught her nothing else in their short time of travelling together, it was to make up her mind and stand by her convictions.

There was a rustle at the door. "My lord," Jaken said in his best groveling tone. "It grows late. Can we not take our leave now?"

Sesshoumaru stood, and Rin released a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Would he say nothing?

"Leave us, Jaken," he said dismissively, casting his golden gaze towards the downcast Rin once again.

She gulped under the weight of his stare, pushing herself up on shaking legs. _Don't go_, she wanted to say. _Don't leave me here. Don't tell me you don't love me, that you could never love me._ She took a deep breath, finding courage in her conviction. _Don't tell me I'm still a child in your eyes._

She raised her chin, meeting his gaze directly. Whatever she expected to see there – censure, disapproval, outright horror – was not what she found.

He covered the space between them in two strides, and before she realized it, she was swept away in his kiss.

Her heart stopped as she felt the gentle press of his lips against hers. She melted, reaching for him blindly, paying no heed to the sharp metal of his armor. He held her apart, however, one hand snaking over her neck, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, his claws mingling in her hair momentarily before he pulled away.

"My lord?" she breathed, her eyelids fluttering open as her hands grasped his arms, desperately wanting to hold him in place.

He gave her an enigmatic smile, twirling a lock of hair through his fingers as he withdrew completely.

She exhaled sharply, bewildered and flustered, as he turned away from her and started for the door.

"Does this mean you'll still return?" she called after him, one hand curling into the silk of her kimono, closing over her heart.

He glanced back at her as he raised the covering of the door. "Have I given you any reason to think otherwise?" he murmured.


	3. His Father's Son

Title: His Father's Son

Author: LuxKen27

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1193

Summary: Canon, pre-manga. Sesshoumaru's mother holds the key to her son's valiant search for Tessaiga.

Author's Note: Written for knittingknots, who requested "Sess + SessMom conversation, not about Rin, Inuyasha, or Inuyasha's mom" during the LJ drabble meme.

_Disclaimer: The_ Inuyasha _concept, story, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media._

.xxxxx.

The day was warm and bright: the sky overhead a brilliant blue, the clouds around her castle white, light, and airy, riding by on a nominal breeze. The Most Venerable Lady of the West stood silently on her veranda, taking in the calm tranquility that surrounded her with an impassive expression.

Every day, it was the same – beautiful. Serene. Peaceful.

She gazed out into the middle distance, a small sigh escaping her lips.

Every day, it was the same – boring. Tiring. Lonely.

How long had she been mired here, moving between the walls of this big, empty castle by herself? She had no sense of time passing anymore. There were no seasons in the sky; with her family gone, there were no more holidays or birthdays or celebrations to mark rites of passage. There was only this place, only the sun, the moon, and the stars for company.

_Really, I should not find this so irritating_, she mused to herself, allowing her eyes to follow an errant trail of clouds as they drifted past. _I knew it would happen…he is too much his father's son to merely sit idly by and be content with what he has. He wanders as his father used to wander, searching the lands of the earth far and wide…_

Still, she was a mother, and it was only natural that she longed to have her child close by, or at least know of his whereabouts and safety.

She closed her eyes as the wind shifted, a small smile curling her lips as a familiar scent wafted her way. Without thinking, she reached out with her youki, latching onto its origins and drawing it closer, finding some amusement in the resistance she encountered. It had been so long – truly, did she expect anything less?

"Mother."

She opened her eyes and inclined her head, taking in the sight of her son as he stood before her, looking only slightly put out at being abruptly called back to his childhood home.

"Sesshoumaru, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?" she murmured.

He narrowed his eyes. "We both know you summoned me here."

She shrugged playfully, retracting her youki and leaning forward, resting her arms on the railing. "Indeed," she admitted. "But is that any way to greet your mother?"

He looked away, giving her the chance to study him without the reciprocal scrutiny. He stood stiffly, his hands closed into fists, disappearing into the voluminous sleeves of his kimono. His mouth was twisted into a haughty sneer, his eyes downcast, giving his flawless features a severity that had not been there the last time she'd seen him. She could sense his struggle to contain himself, and that gave her pause.

"What ails you, my child?" she asked, straightening and approaching him. His armor, patterned after his father's, glittered in the sunlight, checking her urge to reach out and embrace him.

Still, he did not look at her. "You know very well what it is I seek," he grumbled in response.

She gazed at him thoughtfully. He had grown considerably since their last meeting; it would not be much longer that she could look him directly in the eye. "How much longer do you intend to wander the earth, mixing in the realm of humans?"

His gaze met hers, a blazing golden fire fueled by anger and aggravation. "As long as it takes to find my father's tomb," he declared.

Her lips quirked into a sardonic smile. "Of course. You seek Tessaiga."

He nodded firmly. "It is my birthright."

"But not your inheritance," she chided. "Will you never be content with Tenseiga?"

He snorted. "The blade of healing, one which cannot cut and therefore cannot be used in battle? It's useless to me."

Her hand closed around the meidou seki at her neck as he spoke, his words needlessly hurtful. His sword and her stone were linked, a special gift from his father before his untimely demise, one he made her promise not to reveal until Sesshoumaru was ready.

Obviously, this wasn't the time. How he longed for Tessaiga and the spiritual power it held, the brute force with which it could be wielded!

"I'm destined to be a great warrior, to conquer and lead an empire unlike any the world has seen," Sesshoumaru continued, breaking into her thoughts. "I'm to follow in Father's footsteps, to continue what he started before being _sidetracked_." He paused, a look of pure disgust passing fleetingly over his features. "In order to do this, I must obtain his ultimate weapon – the one that can slay a hundred youkai in one stroke."

She touched his face, one finger gently sliding down the length of his double markings as she caressed his cheek. "It is a daunting task, my child," she murmured, releasing her youki and allowing it to enclose them, soothing his frustration and offering him the comfort he would've rejected outright. "Perhaps I can help you."

He inhaled sharply. "You know the location of the tomb?" His eyes flashed with surprise, hurt, and jealousy at the very idea that she'd kept such valuable information from him.

"No," she replied.

He wrenched away from her then, pulling out of the embrace of her youki, crossing his arms over his chest as his expression completely shuttered.

"Don't be petulant, Sesshoumaru," she teased. "Even without that information, I still have something that might be of use for you." She left him then, moving with effortless ease into the castle. When she emerged a short time later, she was faintly amused to see him standing exactly as she'd left him.

"This will ease your search," she announced, pressing a wooden staff to his chest. It was long and intricately carved, topped by opposing faces of a beauty and an old man.

Sesshoumaru took the unusual staff, turning it over in his hands. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he asked curiously.

"When the old man speaks, you have found his final resting place," she said.

"Hm," he grunted, holding the staff up and eyeing the old man. " 'Seeing, yet never seen…protected, yet never known to its protector.' Only Father would think to make things so interesting, even from the afterlife." He glanced at his mother. "Why did you not give me this before?"

She granted him an enigmatic smile. "Why did you run off without telling me, after learning of your father's death and Tessaiga's location?"

He scowled before closing his eyes and tightening his grip on the staff. "Thank you, Mother."

He turned to leave, but she caught his sleeve before he could pass. "One last thing, Sesshoumaru."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"Your sword is not useless."

He shrugged. "If I ever find Tessaiga, I'll have no need for it."

She let him go then, the cool silk of his sleeve drifting out of her fingers, and she could only shake her head. _Sesshoumaru, you are just like your father in so many different ways. You, too, will one day learn to value life – I only hope the lesson isn't as painful and brutal for you as it was for him. _


	4. One Winter's Evening

Title: One Winter's Evening

Author: LuxKen27

Universe: Canon (set between Chapters 557 & 558)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Y

Warning: Sensual nudity

Word Length: 2365

Summary: Miroku & Sango reconnect after an arduous journey separates them – one that tests the strength of his will, and her faith in herself and her choices.

Author's Note: Written for Scribe Figaro, who requested "canon universe + romance or drama + prompts: shelter, fire, ice, now" during the MiroSanta 2009 giftfic exchange.

**IF YOU WANT TO READ THE ENTIRETY OF THE LEMON, PLEASE VISIT MY MEDIA MINER ACCOUNT OR MY LJ COMMUNITY (LINKS LISTED IN PROFILE).**

_Disclaimer: The_ Inuyasha _concept, storyline, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media._

.xxxxx.

_All because of you_

_I believe in angels_

_Not the kind with wings_

_No, not the kind with halos_

_The kind that bring you home_

_When home becomes a strange place_

_I'll follow your voice_

_All you have to do is shout it out_

"The Good Left Undone" © 2007 Tim McIlrath [Rise Against]

.xxxxx.

Miroku was cold. Very, very cold.

"Come on, monk," Inuyasha grunted, shaking his shoulder in a vain attempt to rouse him. "It's not that far now."

Miroku groaned in response, a long, deep, jagged breath pulled from his chest. His body felt like lead, weighted to the floor of the ramshackle hut, coursing with ice and sticky, feverish heat. His left ankle in particular burned, throbbing almost to the point of numbness.

And all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Keh," Inuyasha groused, squatting beside his long-time friend and reaching for one of his arms. "One way or another, we're leaving this place _right now_, bouzo. You know Sango will kill us both if we don't return in one piece."

_Sango…_The mention of his wife's name elicited another unintelligible groan from the monk, but he felt his conscious mind tugging against the seductive, dangerous pull of slumber. _Sango…I want you…_

He felt himself being lifted, awkwardly, then resting against his hanyou companion's back, much like Kagome-sama had been carried, when she was still with them. A vision of the strangely-clad schoolgirl drifted into Miroku's mind, and he clasped his hands around Inuyasha's neck as she used to. That was enough to spur his friend into action. Coiling his body low to the ground as he tightened his grip on Miroku's legs, Inuyasha leapt, tearing out of the temporary shelter and into the blustery, snowy blizzard that had been the cause of all their troubles.

It had all started out so ordinarily – they had picked up a youkai extermination job a few villages over, grateful for the chance to secure more money and/or supplies before the onset of winter. He had a house to furnish, after all, not to mention a pregnant wife to provide for, and Inuyasha…

Inuyasha needed something to take his mind off losing Kagome in the wake of Naraku's demise.

Neither one had anticipated the blizzard that had blown up during their journey home; though each of them was dressed and equipped to travel in the colder weather, the snow came so fast and hard that the world was soon coated in a blindingly white blanket. That had slowed their travel considerably; the situation had only been made worse when Miroku had stumbled over some unknown obstacle, hitting the icy, hard ground with a sickening _thud_, his ankle bent the wrong way.

Ever since, he'd been fighting to stay awake and intact.

Miroku struggled during the renewed journey, his hands quickly turning to ice as they plowed through the storm, his ankle throbbing with renewed pain every time Inuyasha hit the ground, his grip on his friend's suikan slipping against the slickness of the melting snow and wind. He could feel the exhaustion creeping over his body once more, and once more he was tempted to give in, to lose consciousness, to escape from the aches and pains of his body…

"Almost…there…" Inuyasha grunted, his voice lost to the howling winds as he tucked his chin into his chest and braced his shoulders. "We're…almost…home."

_Home_, Miroku thought groggily. _Sango._

In the space of a breath, they were out of the storm, the air around them quiet and still and warm, save the far-off clattering of a door covering. Miroku cracked open his eyes, frowning as he attempted to focus his filmy vision on the dancing flames of a small, nearby fire. Before he realized it, he was laying on the floor again, this time on a makeshift pallet, with something soft cradling his head.

"Miroku! Inuyasha!" Sango's voice sliced through the air and he felt her coming closer, sinking to her knees beside him. Warm fingers touched his face, brushing through the hair at his brow. "What happened?"

"The storm snuck up on us," was Inuyasha's simple reply. The hanyou's voice sounded as if it was traveling through a long, narrow tunnel before meeting Miroku's ears, but he found he couldn't concentrate on his friend's words when he felt his wife's hands on his clothes, quickly untying bows and knots and braids and yanking the heavy, wet robes away from his body.

"You're good at this," Inuyasha observed after a moment.

Miroku could practically feel his wife's angry flush. "Shut up and help me," she grumbled, shoving a wet garment in his hands. "We have to get him out of these wet clothes before he falls ill."

_Sango_, he wanted to assure her, _I'll be all right. I'm with you now, and that's all that matters._ But his mouth wouldn't follow his brain's commands; he could only lay there, his chest steadily rising and falling with each breath as more and more of his skin was exposed to the warmth of the cozy hut. Layer after layer of clothing was removed, until he was down to his hadagi and fundoushi; out of respect for his modesty (or, more likely, hers), Sango pulled a heavy blanket over him then, rubbing his arms and torso gently to generate body heat.

The voices of his companions blended together as soothing warmth curled through his body, courtesy of his wife's tender ministrations. Content in the knowledge that he was safe, warm, and dry, Miroku surrendered to the demands of sleep, willing himself beyond the pain of his still-throbbing ankle.

.xxxxx.

He awoke sometime later, feeling somewhat refreshed and rejuvenated. He yawned and stretched, feeling mildly surprised when his arm brushed across the empty blanket beside him. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness, and glanced about, tilting his head toward the still-glowing fire at his right.

Beside it sat Sango, her eyes trained to the center of the pit as she poked at the embers. She was silent and still, a familiar pink and white kosode tied loosely over her undergarments, her free hand resting absently against her growing midsection. Her silky brown hair was loose, cascading down her back, the reddish highlights picked up in the golden shadows of the fire. He'd always admired her hair, and loved running his fingers through it at night, so soft and thick and warm…it was almost as enjoyable to caress as her backside, though if given the choice, he preferred the feel of flesh against his palm.

He sat up, flinching as a sharp needle of pain bolted through his ankle. Sango turned at the sudden sound, her eyes widening as she studied him. "You're awake," she noted, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"And you're so far away," he murmured in response, his right hand flexing instinctively as he caught sight of the outline of her breast in the firelight. It had taken some getting used to, feeling the sensation of skin against skin on that hand, after years spent covering a curse with a ring and a glove.

She gave him a weak smile in return, turning back to face the fire, folding her arms across her lap.

Miroku frowned, pushing away the blanket that covered him. "What's wrong?" he asked, breaking the patch of silence that stretched between them.

"Nothing," Sango assured him, another smile that didn't quite meet her eyes accompanying her answer. After a beat, her expression fell. "Everything."

"Sango," he began, "you know I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen – "

"It's not that," she cut in, smoothing her hands over the bump of her stomach. Kaede had estimated she was about five months along, and only now was she beginning to show. Sango had not taken to pregnancy well, finding herself violently ill for the first month or so, though those symptoms seemed to have subsided of late. Her reactions to the changes in her body meant she could no longer accompany Miroku and Inuyasha on the youkai exterminations, and that had thrown her for a loop as well, as she didn't know what to do with herself anymore. She had been raised as a warrior, but now she was a housewife, with no family or close friends nearby.

"Then what?" Miroku phrased his probe carefully as he shifted onto his knees, determined to close the gap of space that currently divided them, injured ankle or no.

"I was worried about you, when you didn't return when you said you would," she finally admitted, a guilty flush burnishing her cheeks. "If I had been with you – "

" – I would have been worried about _you_," Miroku broke in. He'd made it to her side by then, sitting once more and sweeping his arms around her shoulders, bringing her back against his chest. "It was a freak storm. It's better that you were here – safe and warm and dry."

She exhaled sharply, squeezing her eyes shut. "I feel useless, just sitting here," she said softly. "I was trained as an elite taijiya when I was a child. I don't know anything about cooking or cleaning or sewing, or any of the other 'womanly arts,' and I just wonder…" She paused, resting her hands on her belly and taking a deep breath. "…I just wonder what's going to happen after I have this baby."

Miroku pressed a light kiss to her forehead, his hands joining hers at her waist. "You're going to be a wonderful mother," he assured her. "I can feel it in my bones."

She glanced back at him, her eyes filled with conflicting emotions. "But what if I want to be more than just a mother?" she asked. "What if I want to go back to fighting youkai?"

Miroku considered her question, studying her with an assessing expression. "What if you don't?" he mused aloud, withholding judgment. "Do you think that only being a mother will make you somehow less than what you were before?"

"I don't know," she replied. "Being a taijiya is what I know – that's the lifestyle I'm comfortable with. I hate sitting idly by while you're out with Inuyasha, doing what I was trained my whole life to do." Her eyes fell.

Miroku quirked a brow even as he tightened his embrace. "Do you resent me for that?"

She shook her head. "I only resent that I can't be _with_ you." She sighed. "Right now, I feel like a great big burden on everyone, Kaede especially. My clothes don't fit right anymore, and I burn anything I try to cook, and I've had fits of wanting to clean and reorganize the house, but I've become such a klutz that she's always coming to my rescue, if you're away."

"You're nobody's burden, least of all mine," he reassured her, smoothing one hand over her midsection before bringing it up to cup one of her breasts. "In fact, I quite like some of these changes you've experienced lately."

Sango snorted. "You would, you lech," she teased, shifting around to face him. He felt her smile as their lips met, until he pressed forward, beyond, slanting his mouth over hers to deepen the kiss. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he slipped his hand inside the loosened kosode, his thumb brushing against her nipple through the thin cotton of her chemise.

She broke away from the kiss, gasping sharply in response to the caress. Miroku took the opportunity to press tiny kisses along the line of her jaw, working his way over to her ear. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?" he whispered, his breath warm against her cheek. Without waiting for a response, he continued, nipping at her earlobe. "I love you for waiting for me, for taking care of me, for being everything I ever wanted – and more." He kissed her neck, laving his tongue over her pulse point. "I love you for agreeing to bear my child, and for being the most beautiful mother-to-be I've ever seen."

She shuddered, sighed, and relaxed into his embrace, taking the sweet vows as the gentle reassurances he intended. Ever since they had started living together, he had continually gone to great lengths to show her just what she meant to him, just how much she'd changed his life. She had always been special to him, but now that his familial curse had been lifted – now that they were both out from under the specter of Naraku – finally, he felt worthy of her.

Once upon a time, she had given him a reason to live. Now it was time to repay that love in spades.

His mouth found hers again as he eased back, bringing her to lie atop him when his back met the fire-warmed floor of the hut. For the moment, he concentrated on kissing her; he loved the way her mouth felt on his, her lips full and soft and inviting. He swept a hand behind her neck, his fingers splaying into her glossy hair, bringing it down over her shoulders like a curtain.

Eventually her mouth strayed from his, trailing down the column of his throat, across his collarbone, as diligent fingers worked to free the knot of the obi that held his undergarments in place. He preened under her attentions, taking the opportunity to push the kosode from her shoulders before opening the ties of her chemise and lifting that fabric away as well. She sat up slightly to allow the clothes to fall away, and he marveled at his good fortune.

Together, they spiraled back to earth, panting breathlessly as they held one another. She slid away as he softened, relaxing against him, cradling her body into his as they lay together on the floor near the fire. Dimly, he became aware of the dull ache in his ankle, but he didn't much care anymore, flush with love and satisfaction.

"I love you," he whispered, twining a hand through her hair, the words feeling unnecessary in the moment, but important nonetheless. "I've always loved you, Sango."

"I love you, too," she replied, bringing her lips to his for another kiss. She pulled away, holding his gaze for a solid half minute. "And no matter what happens – please know: I'm happy to be bearing your child."

He smiled as he felt her torso resting against his, wrapping his arms around her. "I wouldn't have it any other way."


	5. Midnight Masquerade

Title: Midnight Masquerade

Author: LuxKen27

Universe: Alternate (modern era)

Genre: Humor, Romance

Rating: T

Warning: Language

Word Length: 3418

Summary: Sango accompanies her best friend to a high society party on New Year's Eve, only to find far more than she bargained for.

Author's Note: Written for audiodrops, who requested "romance and fluff + prompts: knight, dance, "Excuse me!", dinner" during the MiroSanta 2009 giftfic exchange.

_Disclaimer: The_ Inuyasha _concept, storyline, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media._

.xxxxx.

Sango stifled a sigh as she gazed around the expansive ballroom, searching furtively for her best friend – the one person she actually _knew_ – among the crowd of swirling dancers. The room, bedecked in tones of gold, silver, and blue, was filled to the brim with the cream of Japanese society, everyone dressed in exquisite, elaborate costumes, topped with elegantly decorated masks. Music floated softly above the din of conversation in light, lilting notes, meant to put any and all partygoers at ease.

At that moment, Sango felt anything but.

She threaded her way through the crowd, a small wave of relief flowing over her as she found the wall. Her mask was tight to her face, causing her skin to chafe and itch; not to mention the feather stuck gaily to the side, supposedly there to give her elaborate hairstyle a touch of whimsy. She felt like an idiot, wanting nothing more than to rip it down – but, knowing how much it cost her friend to rent the piece, realized she couldn't let her temper get the best of her.

If she could just _find_ Kagome, and be around someone she actually _knew_ and felt comfortable with, then she would be able to relax.

Maybe.

The prospect was looking mighty grim, at the moment.

_Why did I let her talk me into this?_ Sango asked herself for the forty-fifth time since arriving at the Imperial Hotel. She dabbed at the back of her neck as she continued her turn around the room, using her free hand as a guide along the wall. _This is _so_ not my scene._

But – it was Kagome's, or it would be, soon enough. She had been dating a new boyfriend steadily for a couple of months now, and their relationship was turning pretty intense. The fact that said new boyfriend was also the brother of one of Tokyo's financial elite had only added to the glamour – and the stress. When Inuyasha invited her to his brother's holiday party, Kagome had begged Sango to come along, for moral support.

"_Think of it as a free, three-day weekend, living it up with society's elite," Kagome pitched. "And who knows? Maybe you'll meet someone there as well…?"_

_I doubt it_, Sango thought, but she had agreed to accompany her friend anyway. The two had been best friends for most of their lives – as close as sisters, in fact – and she'd been feeling a bit left out ever since Kagome had started dating Inuyasha. If their relationship was headed where she thought it was, then she definitely wanted the chance to vet him.

It wasn't until the trio had arrived at the hotel tonight that Sango had realized just how different their worlds truly were. It was amazing, really, considering they'd all grown up in the same city. Was this how the other half lived? They might as well have been from different universes.

Apparently this is how The Elite celebrated the turn of the new year – by hosting and attending fancy parties, be they in the guise of charity balls, black tie dinners, or, as in the present case, masquerades. Sango was far more used to something a bit closer to earth – a gathering with her friends on New Year's Eve, followed by the traditional visiting of the shrines and exchanging of nengajō the next day. It was very convivial, and centered on family and tradition, whereas this…felt formal and isolated.

Perhaps it was no surprise, then, that her date for the evening – one of Inuyasha's acquaintances, she hadn't caught his name – was dressed as a feudal-era lord, complete with a set of samurai swords. He'd seemed quite proud of that fact, making sure she'd taken note of them as introductions were made, but Sango had to resist rolling her eyes as he boasted about the authenticity of his costume. _I wonder if he'd be so impressed with himself if he knew those swords were from the wrong era_, she wondered silently. Mercifully, he'd disappeared almost as soon as he'd appeared, excusing himself to get them glasses of punch, just as Inuyasha swept Kagome off into the crowd.

That had been an hour ago.

_I believe I've been ditched_, Sango thought wryly as she continued around the room, concentrating on the floor and trying not to trip over her dress. _Isn't that just perfect._

She was so busy paying attention to putting one foot successfully in front of another that she blindly bumped into a solid figure.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, collecting herself as a rush of heat bloomed behind her mask.

The figured turned. "No apology necessary," replied a friendly voice. "You're just what I've been searching for."

Sango glanced up warily, her jaw dropping slightly as she ran her eyes over the length of this accidental companion. He – she presumed it was a man, at least – was dressed from head to foot in metal armor, looking like something that had walked straight out of a European history museum. "What are you supposed to be, a knight in shining armor?" she blurted out before she could stop herself, on the edge of laughter.

Somehow, the figured bowed gracefully before her. "Looking for my damsel in distress," he replied smoothly. He pushed the visor of his helmet up, revealing a set of mischievous violet eyes. "Would you like to dance?"

Sango straightened her spine, drawing herself to her full height. "Not with someone who automatically thinks all damsels are in need of saving," she said archly, whatever good cheer this mysterious man had elicited rapidly fading in the face of his chauvinistic remark.

The knight bowed again. "My apologies, madam," he returned. "I didn't mean to read a book by its cover."

Sango's face flamed again, though more out of embarrassment than anger. It was true – the only thing she felt more uncomfortable about than being in a room full of society strangers was being in a room full of society strangers dressed in a formal, frilly, long pink dress with matching heels. Her gown was an empire-waist eighteenth-century replica in light rose, with a gemstone-encrusted bodice that only heightened the fact that she wasn't well-endowed enough up top to wear it convincingly. The outfit was complete with white elbow-length gloves that matched her mask and rose-colored heels, which she had been stumbling over for most of the evening.

The idea that her discomfort was obvious even to a stranger was distressing for her. She liked being able to control the façade she presented to the world – even if it was hidden behind a feather-laden mask.

"Don't worry," the knight whispered leaning close. "I don't think anyone else can tell."

"What?" Sango startled, her eyes drawn to his, still visible under the visor. They were such a strange color, more indigo than violet, a deep, rich hue she could almost lose herself in…

His eyes crinkled, suggesting an accompanying smile. "You're far too beautiful to look as nervous as you do. Is this your first time?"

"Yes," she replied, flattening herself to the wall beside the knight to allow another couple to pass by. "I'm here with one of my friends – I'm looking for her, in fact."

"Oh? Maybe I can help you find her." The knight straightened and began to look out over the crowd. "What is she dressed as?"

"She's dressed like me," Sango said, pressing herself up on her tip-toes to gaze out into the sea of masked dancers.

"_Two_ beautiful women?" her companion mused aloud. "My evening is looker better and better all the time…!"

Sango frowned. "She has a boyfriend," she replied, straining to focus on the far corner of the room. It seemed the dancing had stopped for the moment, the crowd swelling as couples moved off the floor.

"And you don't?" the knight inquired, inclining his head toward her. "I find that hard to believe."

_You're just about the only one_, Sango thought morosely. Truly, as happy as she was for Kagome – and she _was_, no doubt about that – she couldn't help but feel a teensy bit jealous that her friend had such an easy time when it came to men. She was warm, and kind, and sweet, and pretty, and guys just seemed to flock around her. _Quality_ guys, no less – she didn't attract the creeps or weirdos.

"Oh, there she is," Sango said, pointing across the room at a girl dressed quite similarly to herself, only in blue. "I'd recognize her boyfriend anywhere, even masked." Inuyasha's silver hair was a dead giveaway; he only shared that feature with one other person in the room, and his brother was currently at the bandstand, discussing something with the DJ.

"She's with Inuyasha, eh?" the knight breathed, obviously impressed. "Damn, she's a lucky girl."

"Oh yeah?" Sango's ears perked up at that; she didn't know much about this new boyfriend, other than that he was rich.

"Yeah," her companion replied. "When he falls for a girl, he _falls_ for her. I mean, look at them – it's like she's the only woman in the room."

Sango nodded. "Yeah, I see what you mean," she murmured. Her heart wrenched a little in her chest. That's what _she _wanted – a man who only had eyes for her, instead of a man who was also eyeing the rest of the ballroom, sizing up the other tall, thin, beautiful, delicate socialites…as, no doubt, her erstwhile date was probably doing.

The music began again, a bit livelier than before. "I suppose we have to pass the time until midnight somehow," the knight piped up. "Are you sure you don't want to dance?"

Sango shrugged. She felt like a klutz just _walking_ in those heels. But something in his comments caught her attention. "What did you say about midnight?"

"It's tradition," he replied, turning those violet eyes on her once more. "At midnight, everyone reveals themselves, and ring in the new year with a kiss."

Sango's eyes widened. "A kiss?" she asked warily, visions of her feudal lord date dancing in her brain. She'd barely even spoken to him, and now she was supposed to _kiss_ him?!

"It's tradition," the knight said cheerfully. "The best part of the tradition, if you ask me!"

Before she could respond, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the dance floor. "Come on!" he urged indulgently. "No one as beautiful as you should be resigned to being a wallflower all night!"

They were already on the dance floor before she could protest. "Can you dance in that outfit?" she asked skeptically, picking up the hem of her dress before she could fall over it.

He pulled her close, looping one arm around her waist and taking her free hand in his. "You'd be amazed at what I can do in this outfit," he said dramatically, whisking her into the crowd.

Her knight moved so confidently around the dance floor that soon enough, Sango forgot about being uncomfortable, or klutzy, or alone, and she relaxed, losing herself in the music and the sweet charms of her companion. The plates covering his arms and legs were light and flexible, allowing him to move as freely as his historical counterpart would've been restricted. A sleek black bodysuit peeked out of the joints and at his wrists, belying his ability to stay cool under the bright lights and shiny metal.

The passage of time was marked with each new song, but Sango found it hard to pay attention. Her knight was on the top of his game, keeping her laughing and smiling with his witty remarks, leaning close to whisper amusing comments about nearby dancers in her ear, and freely answering the questions she felt bold enough to ask. His grip on her hand was sure, the fingers pressed to the small of her back light and reassuring. She lost herself in the twinkle of his eyes, wondering how and why and what could've been.

Did he fit into this world, or was he a fellow interloper?

The buzz of the crowd around them rose, breaking into Sango's reverie. "What's going on?" she puzzled, glancing about as they continued to move around the dance floor.

"It's almost midnight," her companion responded.

"Is it?" she asked, frowning and slowing her stride. "I suppose I should find my date, then."

The knight blinked, stopping short. "You have a date?"

"Yeah, somewhere…" she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders and eyeing his breastplate.

She was surprised when he released her, taking a step back and dipping into another bow. "Then I thank my lady for the wonderful evening, and being as so kind as to dance with me," he said with a flourish. "I'll take my leave, and allow you to find your date."

_But, wait – !_ The words lodged in her throat as she watched him turn and disappear into the crowd. Her shoulders fell, the thought of searching for the feudal lord weighing heavily on her mind. Reluctantly, she started back, elbowing and pushing her way through the densely packed crowds, who were waiting with great anticipation for the turn of the new year.

She spotted her friends, changing paths and forging towards them, taking her skirt in both hands. "Have you seen my date?" she asked breathlessly as she approached.

Kagome smiled, her eyes shining from behind her mask as she curled her arms around her boyfriend's waist. "I think he was over by the French doors," she replied, nodding her head toward the nearest exit. "Are you having fun tonight, Sango?"

_Well, I was, until I had to find this doofus again_, she thought, though she refrained from speaking her mind. "It's been…interesting," she hedged. _Not exactly an experience I'd like to repeat, but not totally horrible, either_, she added silently.

Inuyasha beamed. "Karanousuke's pretty cool," he said, dropping her date's name with obvious approval. "I'm glad you two hit it off."

Kagome furrowed her brow. "You two _did_ hit it off, didn't you?" she inquired, a trace of worry in her tone.

Sango set off without answering them, unsure of how, exactly, to break the news that she'd spent her evening with some random stranger in a knight costume instead. She knew how badly Kagome wanted to be accepted by Inuyasha's circle of friends, and she wasn't going to be the one to ruin it for her friend. _It's just one kiss_, she told herself as she angled off towards the French doors. _And no kiss can be worse than the one in eighth grade, when that boy was so nervous he missed my mouth completely and ended up making out with my chin._

The crowd suddenly cleared before her, and she nearly ran headlong into her date, whose back was turned to her. "Sorry," she mumbled, managing a glancing blow instead, just enough to capture his attention.

"Oh, hello," he said pleasantly, turning to face her. He rested one hand on the hilts of his swords, the other curling around the waist of some tall, voluptuous woman. "Do I know you?"

Sango had never been more thankful to be wearing a mask as she was at that moment, even if said mask was tight, ugly, and uncomfortable. For a moment, she was frozen, shocked and embarrassed to the core, unsure of what to say.

"_No, you don't know me, but you were supposed to be my date for the evening"?_

"_No, and thank the deity of your choice for it"?_

"_Yes, you pissant asshole, I'm your date? You know, the one you ditched at the door for someone a little more plastic, in both looks and personality"?_

Karanousuke furrowed his brow, his gaze turning concerned. "Can I help you with something?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"I – " Sango started.

"Ah, there you are, my lady!" rang out a voice, capturing the group's attention. They all turned to see the knight approaching rather determinedly. He arrived just in time, taking her elbow and steering her towards the door. "How did you know this was my favorite place to be alone with a gorgeous woman?"

She could've kissed him, right then and there. "Just a hunch," she breathed, enjoying the way he pulled her close now that he was at her side.

The knight turned to her date, dropping a curt bow. "If you will excuse us, my lord," he intoned, "I'd rather have this one all to myself."

Sango was so grateful to be excised from the embarrassing situation that she didn't have time to bristle in indignation at the implication drawn. She allowed her knight to lead her out the door, walking far enough into the garden courtyard until she was sure they were out of sight before pulling away.

"Thanks," she sighed, pushing her mask up and rubbing her face as the chill of the night air met and stung her skin. She couldn't imagine a worse way for the evening to conclude – nothing like having her suspicions confirmed regarding her date, and her place in this world.

"No problem," her companion said, draping a coat around her shoulders. She glanced over at him just in time to see him lift his helmet away; it was all she could do to stop her sharp intake of breath upon this first look at him. He was absolutely beautiful, his smile as wicked as his eyes foretold, his hair longer than fashionable, giving him something of a rakish appearance. His features were angular but soft, beautiful eyes complemented by beautiful lips, and suddenly, she found herself forgiving of any verbal missteps he'd made that evening.

He caught her staring, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Are you okay?" he mused, laughter warming his voice.

"You're just…not at all what I expected," she managed, another blush coloring her cheeks as she looked away. Somehow, talking to him had been easier when she had no idea how handsome he was, but now…?

Now, she felt each and every way she could possibly feel awkward in this situation.

Acutely.

"Oh no?" he teased, adjusting the coat on her shoulders. "I hope you mean that in a good way."

Sango bit her lip, her eyes trained to the ground. "You don't have to stay out here with me."

"Even if I want to?"

The question took her by surprise; she glanced up to see him smiling softly, the edges of his violet eyes crinkling, as if he had some great secret he was dying to share with her. She couldn't help but smile a little in response, though she fought the feeling of ease that accompanied the gesture.

The bells of the city began to toll at that moment, filling the air with their symphony of sound – high, low, heavy, light. Sango found herself arrested in the moment, held captive by their shimmering tones – and his mischievous eyes.

She swallowed hard. "Don't you have a date?" she asked.

One of his hands ghosted over her neck, his thumb tracing the crest of her cheek. "Yes," he replied firmly. "You."

The next sensation she felt was his lips on hers, warm and soft and pliant; the way he tilted her head up ever so slightly; the way her heart seemed to race in her chest in response. He lingered a little bit, drawing her lower lip between his as he pulled away, before opening his eyes ever so slightly.

"Happy New Year," he whispered with a smile, pulling at her mask until it gave way, freed from the complicated upsweep of her hair.

"I don't even know you," she blurted out in response, clapping her hand over her mouth as the gravity of the words broke through the haze of light-headedness.

He drew her body into his, peeling her hand from her mouth and leaning close once more. "My name is Miroku," he told her, before kissing her again.

Her arms drifted up, closing around his neck. "And I'm Sango," she breathed as they broke apart once more.

"Sango," he repeated, as if allowing her name to roll off his tongue. He brushed his fingers over her temple, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I'd like to call you sometime, Sango, if that's okay with you."

She nodded wordlessly, her eyes drifting closed as she slanted her mouth over his. _If the rest of my year is half as good as this_, she thought, reveling in the way he closed his embrace around her, _then it will be a good year, indeed._


	6. No Ordinary Woman

Title: No Ordinary Woman

Author: LuxKen27

Universe: Post-canon manga (Feudal Era)

Genre: Family

Rating: K+

Warning: None

Word Length: 887

Summary: Sango battles her frustrations in unusual ways.

_Author's Note:_ Written for TigerKat24, for the 2010 fandom_stocking holiday exchange.

_Disclaimer: The_ Inuyasha _concept, storyline, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media._

.xxxxx._  
_

Miroku had never thought himself an unusual admirer of women; he liked the same things about them that other men (less holy men, even) enjoyed: their poise, their grace, their charm, their spirit. For years he'd sought out the perfect vessel to carry on his lineage, a way to cheat fate should his family's curse ultimately consume him. Others might call him indiscriminate, considering his propositioning of any and all eligible women, but he definitely had a _type_.

And she was the embodiment of his ideal, this woman he was finally able to call wife.

He loved to watch her, even idly. The lithe-like grace with which she moved, earned from years of hard, focused training with Hiraikotsu. Her quick reflexes, honed in battle, now mostly used to keep up with their three children. Her growing patience, even in frustration, borne of the deep-seated need for vengeance – but one that was constantly thwarted or otherwise delayed.

She was no ordinary woman, his Sango. She had embraced motherhood and domestic duties, even if she struggled to learn the womanly arts so many other village women had already mastered. When she tired of laundry and mending, of settling disputes between the twins or listening to idle gossip in town, she sought him out, a familiar gleam in her eye.

"Let's go," she'd say, cuffing his arm just above the elbow.

He'd grin, knowing exactly what she wanted.

They'd escape into the woods just beyond the village, into the forest that once bore Inuyasha's name. There was a clearing they especially liked, not far from Goshinboku, just wide enough for the two of them under a cluster of dense overbrush. She would always make the first move, for this was her release – he was merely glad to have a role in it, such an intimate piece of her life.

Her body had undeniably changed following the birth of their children – her joints were looser, her muscles constrained, her body softer and wider than the lean slayer she had been. She'd worked hard to get back into shape, showing neither herself nor him mercy as she trained with singular focus.

She only brought out the weaponry when she needed stress relief, and today was such a day.

She'd chosen her wakizashi, an inheritance from her father. It was smaller and easier to carry than Hiraikotsu, and generally better for the sort of hand-to-hand combat she craved in order to vent her frustration. He knew her movements well enough by now to be able to parry successfully with his staff, but she kept him on his toes nonetheless.

Their session was strangely quiet, devoid of all sound other than the quiet rattle of the rings of his shakujou and an occasional strain of movement. She was in rare form, cutting him no slack, sweat beading at her brow as she darted and blocked his blows. Her eyes were clear, her features etched into a thoughtful scowl, but she didn't allow her inner turmoil to reign. He didn't ask questions; he merely fought her with equal parity, knowing she'd stop when she was ready – when she'd had enough.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she was finished. She caught him in a surprise attack, pushing his staff from his hands and blocking him from reaching it, hauling him back against a tree, her blade at his throat. She breathed heavily against him, staring down at him triumphantly, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

"Remind me again how it is that I'm the one slaying demons these days?" he murmured wryly.

"Just luck, I suppose," she responded, pulling away and sheathing her sword.

She retrieved his staff, giving him a moment to recover himself. As she drew closer, he eyed her thoughtfully, wondering if he should broach the subject of her wrath. Generally she didn't like to speak about her frustrations with the villagers or the children, but sometimes she could be candid.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he finally asked, drawing her into a loving, if sweaty, embrace.

She sighed, laying her head against his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist. "Not really," she replied.

"Okay," he demurred, knowing better than to push. She worked things out in her own way, in her own time; it was enough for him that he could comfort her in the aftermath. He reveled in the way her body felt next to his, long and lean and oh, so trusting.

Another smile pulled at the corners of his lips. Sometimes these sparring matches led to other fun, intimate things as well…

She pulled away before he could grow too attached to the idea. "We should return," she said, her voice tinged with the slightest hint of worry. "Inuyasha's not the best baby-sitter in the world – "

"Pfft," Miroku broke in teasingly. "He needs all the practice he can get, before his own come into this world."

She smiled at him, a genuinely happy smile, her expression full of mirth. "True enough," she conceded, reaching for his hand, "but I miss my babies."

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "So do I," he agreed, his words muffled against her lips. "Let's go home."

She was no ordinary woman, his Sango. And he wouldn't have it any other way.


	7. The Miko's Sacrifice

Title: The Miko's Sacrifice

Author: LuxKen27

Universe: Pre-canon

Genre: General

Rating: T

Warning: Angst, (minor) character death

Word Length: 2,954

Summary: She never wanted to be a savior, but now she held humanity's fate in her hands.

_Author's Note:_ Written for paynesgrey, on commission for the 2011 help_japan fandom charity auction.

_Disclaimer: The_ Inuyasha _concept, storyline, and characters are copyright Rumiko Takahashi and Viz Media._

.xxxxx.

Kikyo glanced up, eyeing the sunlit sky with a trace of suspiciousness. A hint of trepidation prickled the skin at the nape of her neck, which was usually the first sign that something ominous was about to happen. She searched the pale blue morning skyline for the barest note of darkness, but there was none. Nevertheless, she tightened her grip on Kaede's hand as they continued to walk along the village lane.

They were making their morning rounds, visiting those villagers who had recently sought Kikyo's aid. It was harvest season, and there were no small amount of farm-related injuries to look after – everything from cuts and bruises, to broken bones, to the superstitious, still hoping to reap a bountiful feast. Kaede carried Kikyo's bag, stuffed full of medicinal herbs and sacred sutras. She carried it so that Kikyo could wear her bow and a quiver of sacred arrows – one never knew when danger would strike.

They drew to a halt in front of a small, rough-hewn hut. Kaede glanced back at her older sister, confusion furrowing her brow. "Are you coming, sister?" she asked, bracing her arms around the heavy bag.

Kikyo nodded solemnly, pushing a pool of saliva back in her throat. "Of course," she replied smoothly, taking a step forward, however reluctant. Kaede beamed, pushing through the covering that shielded the entrance.

Kikyo followed, blinking rapidly to allow her eyes to adjust to the cool darkness of the room. The fire pit had been banked, embers still smoking from the previous evening. In the corner was a pallet, piled high with blankets, which shifted as she made her approach. She looked down into the face of one of her oldest and dearest friends, a young woman named Himiko.

"Kikyo," the girl greeted, her voice thin and reedy. She struggled to sit up, brushing aside her covers and revealing her large, rounded belly.

"Himiko," Kikyo returned, gracefully kneeling by her side. "You look well." Tentatively, she reached out, smoothing her hand over the girl's abdomen.

"Then I look better than I feel," Himiko sighed ruefully. "I cannot wait for this child to be born – he gives me no peace."

As if on cue, Kikyo felt the baby kick. Himiko's skin was taut beneath her nighttime yukata, warm to the touch, flushed pink in contrast to the creamy linen. "You are not sleeping well?" Kikyo queried, sitting back on her heels.

Himiko shook her head, reaching up to scrape her sweaty hair away from her shoulders. "Please tell me I am due soon," she pleaded. "I feel so full that I'm about to burst!"

Kikyo smiled. "You are," she confirmed, "but until your baby comes, you should keep to your bed. I'll give you something to ease your pain and help you sleep." She motioned for Kaede, who dutifully deposited the bag at Kikyo's side. After the merest moment's search, Kikyo withdrew her hand, holding out three small packets of dried herbs.

"Blend these into a tea, and drink it at mealtimes," she instructed, demonstrating the amounts of each to use. "Even if you can't eat, you should drink this."

Himiko glanced up at her as she took the sachets. "And I will sleep?" she asked doubtfully, seeking reassurance.

"Yes," Kikyo replied, placing a warm hand over her friend's. "I'll come back tomorrow to check on you."

Himiko smiled as she slipped back down into bed. "Thank you," she whispered, clutching the packets between her fingers.

Kikyo nodded again, making to stand. She turned suddenly as sunlight filled the small room, shielding her eyes with one hand as the other instinctively found her bow. The door covering fell again, revealing Himiko's husband, his eyes wide and his chest heaving.

"Date said you were here," he said breathlessly, rushing to his wife's side. "Is she okay?"

"Yes," Kikyo replied, laying her hand on his arm. She drew him away, lowering her voice in confidence. "She will deliver soon – perhaps tomorrow, or the day after that. She is in a great deal of pain, so I've given her herbs to make a tea. Please make sure she drinks it as instructed. It will relax her, and help her body prepare for delivery."

Himiko's husband nodded, wringing his hands together. For a long moment, his eyes searched Kikyo's, the intensity of his study causing her heart to flutter against her ribs. He was tall and handsome, compactly built and tanned from his work in the fields. In another life, she had fancied him – before her training as a miko.

He took her hand between both of his, clasping it tightly. "She will be okay?" he asked worriedly. "She has struggled from the start with him." He spared a brief glance over his shoulder at his wife.

Kikyo curled her hand into a fist, reaching deep inside herself, looking for the strength to give this man an answer. "It will not be easy," she finally acknowledged, "but I do believe she'll make it through just fine."

He nodded, releasing her hand. "Thank you, Kikyo," he whispered. "You have kept her hale and whole for this long – I have no doubt you will be able to continue to keep her that way."

Kikyo averted her eyes from his, turning to face her sister as the blood drained from her face. She had no idea at all if her friend would live long enough to deliver her child; the other women she had seen in this level of agony so close to birth had not met happy fates. She bit her lip as the man she'd once loved crouched by her friend's side, spikes of guilt and remorse slicing through her. _Sometimes lying is the best course,_ she reminded herself silently. _There is no need for them to suffer more than they already are._

A cold wind greeted Kikyo and Kaede as they exited the hut; the sky was noticeably darker now, causing the farmers in the fields to look up with concern. Kaede shivered. "Feels like rain," she remarked absently, sliding her hand into her sister's.

"Hmm," Kikyo mused. Her stomach was churning, though she was not yet sure if it was because of the darkening skies, or because of her own heavy heart, weighted down with despair. So much had changed in the last five years; one of the most difficult things about her miko's training had always been tending to pregnant women. It had only become harder now that her friends in the village were marrying and bearing children – it only served to sharpen the contrast between their lives and hers.

Though powerful and respected, becoming a miko had never been her choice. Following the tragic deaths of her parents, however, there was little else she could do. She had to care for her sister, and there was nothing else suited to a single young woman. It suited her personality well; she was more practical than romantic.

Still, as she reached the age of motherhood, she couldn't help but long for the chance to be ordinary – to find a husband, to have a child, to care for a hearth instead of an entire village. It was not completely unheard of for a miko to have a family, but her profession certainly shortened her chances. Men either feared her or revered her: they saw the art instead of the woman.

Thunder broke overhead, drawing Kikyo from her brooding. The sky was now black, thick with dark clouds and threatening rain. She narrowed her eyes, redoubling her grip on Kaede's hand. _This is no ordinary storm_, she surmised, feeling the heaviness of the ominous darkness permeate the air.

"Come," she commanded, hurrying her pace as she made for home, her strides long and determined. Kaede rushed to keep up, her lips drawing into a thin line; Kikyo wondered if she sensed it, too.

If she could, that meant trouble indeed.

They had only just made it back to their hut beside the torii gates when the heavens opened. Rain pelted against the door covering as they ducked inside. A peek out the window confirmed that the others had taken shelter as well; the village lane was deserted, everyone huddling inside their homes, no doubt worrying that their fields would be flooded before their crops could be harvested.

Kikyo sighed, pressing her back against the wall and rubbing her hand across her temple. The churn of her stomach had only gotten worse; her joints were beginning to ache as a tide of fear threatened – the villagers' fears, her own, as well as whatever fate was about to bring to her door. She'd only ever experienced anxiety this strong once before, early in her training, before she knew how to draw on and fortify her spiritual power.

It was slightly unnerving that it was happening again.

"K-Kikyo?"

Kikyo shifted, her eyes falling to her little sister, who was shaking like a leaf. She swallowed hard, tamping back her own trepidation as she reached for Kaede, wrapping her arms around her. "It'll be okay," she said soothingly.

"What's happening?" Kaede asked, her voice trembling as she clung to her sister.

Before Kikyo could respond, the covering at the entrance of their hut was hurled aside, startling the both of them. Kikyo tightened her arms protectively around her sister, squeezing her eyes shut for the smallest of moments, wondering if she could simply will away whatever trouble awaited her.

"Kikyo-sama?" intoned a deep, muffled voice. "Are you Kikyo-sama?"

After drawing a deep breath, Kikyo stood, releasing Kaede and turning to face the person who had addressed her. A man stood in the doorway of the hut, dressed in black from head to toe. A metal mask gleamed against his face, covering his nose and mouth but leaving his eyes uncovered. Metal plates covered his arms and legs and torso, colored gold and held in place with bright strips of dyed leather.

"I am," Kikyo replied after a long moment, confirming her identity. "And you are a taijiya, no?"

The man's brows lifted in surprise. "Hai," he responded, reaching up with his free hand and unclasping the mask. He took a step forward, allowing the covering to fall back into place, before falling to one knee before her. "I have come to seek your assistance," he continued, bowing his head in a respectful nod.

Kaede clutched at Kikyo's hand, watching the scene unfold from behind her sister's voluminous hakama. "What's a taijiya?" she asked, her whispered question more noisy than soft.

"A demon-slayer," Kikyo explained, her tone cool as she gazed at the man's bowed head. She had heard talk of them, but had never actually seen one in person. Warily, she wondered what sort of "assistance" this man had in mind.

"Arise," she commanded stonily, already on her guard. Taijiya of legend were primarily good, fighting the same evils the miko occasionally faced. Anyone travelling with such darkness immediately aroused her suspicion, however; she had never known humans to carry something this ominous – something which reeked of death and destruction.

"Kikyo-sama," the man began, cradling his metal mask in his hand, "your reputation has spread far beyond these village walls. We have heard of the strength of your spiritual power, and you are the only one who can save us."

"'Us'?" Kikyo inquired curiously.

The man took her wrist, pulling her forward and pushing aside the door covering once again. "Us," he repeated grimly.

Kikyo swallowed a surprised gasp as she gazed at the sight before her – dozens of warriors fell to their knees before her, lowering their weapons and bowing their heads. They were all dressed similarly to the man who still held her wrist, covered in metal armor and masks, dulled and rusted by travel and weather.

"I don't understand," Kikyo finally said, breaking the silence that surrounded them.

"We have traveled a great distance," the mysterious man at her side explained, "seeking someone who has the power to purify the jewel." His grip on her wrist softened as he led her forward, into the rain and into the circle of his men. They halted in front of man lying prone on a makeshift pallet, his breathing heavy and jagged as he clutched something to his chest.

"This is my father," the man at her side murmured. "During our last youkai extermination, he slayed a demon who had this in his belly." With trembling fingers, he pried his father's hands open, revealing a small, round jewel which pulsated with life. A glimmer of white light pierced the otherwise darkened orb.

"It's the Shikon no Tama," the man continued, "and it was borne of a great warrior priestess. It holds a great deal of power – power that can be used for good or evil." He shook his head. "It hasn't been used for good in thousands of years, and as you can see, it is now corrupted, almost beyond repair." He gestured at the old man's withered hands, burned and blackened and gnarled. "My father is the strongest among us, and it has nearly taken his life. Please, Kikyo-sama, we ask that you purify the jewel."

Kikyo's heart beat heavily in her chest as she stared at the prone man, struggling for every breath that he took. His eyes were open, wide and pleading, and it took all of his strength and force of will to hold out what was left of his hands. Darkness permeated the air around them, heavy and thick with shrouded fear. The jewel seemed to thrive on this energy, the oily blackness beginning to crowd out the little speck of light.

She reached out hesitantly, plucking the jewel from the man's hands, expecting it to burn her as it had him – but instead, it was cool to the touch, smooth and hard and heavy for its size. Almost immediately, the darkness began to dissipate, replaced with a rosy pink light that shimmered almost white. She released a breath she didn't even know she was holding as she cradled the jewel in her palms.

All around her, the men breathed deep sighs of relief – all except the old man lying on the ground. He closed his hands over his chest, his eyes falling shut, his breathing completely stilling. The man at Kikyo's side slipped to the ground beside him, brushing the graying hair from his brow, closing his hand over his father's shoulder. He whispered a few quiet words before releasing him, rising to his feet once more and turning to face Kikyo.

"The Shikon no Tama is incredibly powerful," he said solemnly. "But more than that – it is easily corrupted. The force of this evil has taken my father's life, and I beg of you – don't let it take anyone else's." His hands brushed against hers, closing her hands around the jewel. "Please, Kikyo-sama – you are the only person powerful enough to insure the sacred purity of the jewel, to keep Midoriko's spirit alive and fighting inside it. Please tell me you'll watch over it, and keep it from those who wish to corrupt it again."

_Midoriko._ The name resonated within her and caused the jewel to pulsate, warming between her palms. She looked up, meeting the man's somber gaze, and wondered if he realized just what he was asking of her. Protecting this jewel – keeping it pure and free from demonic influence – would require _her_ to be pure as well.

For a moment, she allowed herself to feel the warmth of this man's hands, the gentle brush of his fingers against hers. She lifted her eyes, watching the rain as it pelted down on him, plastering his dark hair against his forehead, running in rivulets over the smooth contours of his face. Her heart ached as she stared, and felt, and longed to be someone other than who she was.

"Do you understand what you're asking of me?" she inquired softly.

He squeezed her hands. "You have the gift," he replied. "You have the power to save us all."

_Even if it means giving up my own life?_ she thought silently.

She gave a minute shake of her head as her eyes fell to their joined hands. _I never wanted this_, she wanted to cry out. _I never wanted to be a savior!_ She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing away the painful images that rushed to the fore: of finding a husband – of having a baby of her own – of sinking into an anonymous, ordinary life, responsible only for her family's wellbeing.

If she did this, then never again could she want those things, or feel jealous or wistful of those who had them.

It was the miko's sacrifice.

She exhaled sharply, opening her eyes and meeting the taijiya's gaze once more. She didn't know if he spoke the truth – if she was the _only_ person who could sanctify the jewel and protect it from harm – but he and his men had obviously travelled far in order to seek her out. Could she honestly tell him no, that her life was more important than his – or his father's, or anybody else's? That her own personal happiness, already an uphill battle to fulfill, was worth more to her than keeping her fellow human beings safe?

"Okay," she finally agreed. "I'll do it."

He nodded silently, his hands falling away from hers as he fell to one knee before her, bowing his head. "Thank you, Kikyo-sama," he replied reverently. "We will never forget this. If you ever require our assistance, it is yours, no questions asked."

Kikyo opened her hands, staring down at the jewel, still shimmering with rosy pink light. Now, more than ever, it seemed her life had never been destined to be her own.


End file.
